Two Years Lost
by ClaryRoss
Summary: He was pale, but he was always pale, his eyes were imploring her to show some kind of emotion, any emotion, but she stood stock still, gray eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. What kind of reaction was she supposed to have to seeing her "dead" boyfriend alive and breathing on her front step? Sherlock/OC
1. Chapter 1

There he stood before her, in all his usual elegance. Tailored suit, long woolen tweed coat, scarf wrapped round his neck, dark mess of curls. He was pale, but he was always pale, his eyes were imploring her to show some kind of emotion, any emotion, give him something to deduce, but she stood stock still, gray eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

What kind of reaction was she supposed to have to seeing her "dead" boyfriend alive and breathing on her front step?

* * *

His funeral had been small, though many people had heard of Sherlock Holmes, not many knew him. She saw some of the people who's cases he'd solved, Molly Hooper, Mrs. Hudson and of course, John Watson. The sky was overcast as they watched his coffin lower into the Earth, the air chilled. She was trying not to cry, to keep her face still, for she knew that if one sob escaped her, she'd crumble. She tensed her muscles, locked her jaw, bunched her hands into her pockets in tight, white knuckled fists. When the last mound of dirt was thrown, and the final words were said, the people around her dispersed and she let the tears stream down her cheeks in silent rolls.

She watched as Mrs. Hudson and John walked up to his tombstone, they spoke briefly before Mrs. Hudson departed in a mess of sniffles. She could hear John over the quiet of the graveyard, he touched his fingers to the stone, and begged his friend for one last miracle, to not be dead. She watched John wipe his eyes and shake his head clear, before walking off in the direction of Mrs. Hudson.

And then it was just her. The fifty or so paces to his grave felt like an eternity, with each step she felt weaker, and then she was right in front of it. She fell to her knees and stared at his name, she let her head fall slowly forward, until the top of her forehead rested against the cool granite. Sobs wracked through her in long waves. Eventually she lifted her head, she sniffled unattractively but she couldn't bring herself to care. She wanted to say everything that was going through her head, all of her fears and insecurities. But the words only screamed in her head, echoing on her subconscious.

"I love you," she said finally. She took in uneven breaths and wiped at her cheeks, "I never told you, because I didn't think you could say it back. But I do, I still do." She let out a thick sigh, "You were a genius, and a total idiot at the same time, and I loved you. Half of the time I didn't understand you," she laughed wetly, "or why you wasted your time with me." She held her head in her hands, and whispered inaudibly, "I'm so scared Sherlock." She looked up once more, wiping her cheeks and rubbing her eyes. She leaned over, pressed her lips to the stone and whispered, "Don't worry, I'll watch John for you."

She stood turning her back to the grave and brushed the Earth from her dress, stuffing her hands into her pockets once more. And as she walked, she allowed her fist to curl around the little white stick, with two little pink lines.

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Now this is just an idea I had, but if people hate it I won't continue with it so please let me know what you think! Suggestions are welcome as to how this unnamed girl should deal with this and what not, and name suggestions wouldn't hurt either, for the baby and the female character.

Thanks for reading!

Please Review!

- Clary


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Years Lost- Coping **

* * *

_*2 months later*_

221B Baker Street.

She had no idea what state she would find John Watson in, though she imagined he'd be a mess, like her, though he'd try to hide it, again, like her. She supposed Sherlock had a certain 'type' as to the type of people he surrounded himself by, it's no wonder so many people thought he and John were an item, though the idea was still laughable. She didn't know why she was so nervous to tell John of all people, he was not only her friend, but a doctor as well. She lifted her hand, shaking, and pressed the buzzer. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually she could hear slow, thudding footsteps descending down the steps and the door swung open.

He looked awful, worse than she had expected. His hair sat dirty and uncombed atop his head and he wore dark flannel pajama bottoms paired with a stained gray t-shirt, a midnight blue housecoat thrown over top. Even if you excluded his physical appearance, one only had to look in his eyes to know the despair he was feeling.

She remembered spending a long night with Sherlock, as he tried to explain his deduction techniques.

_"It's the eyes,"_ he'd said. _"that's where you look first, the rest tells you the specifics, the eyes tell you the meaning, what's most important."_

Looking into John's eyes, bloodshot and shadowed with purplish bruises just beneath them, she saw the story of sleepless nights and salty tears.

He looked like her.

"Hi," She said weakly, tucking a lock of mahogany hair behind her ear. His mouth twitched, the politeness in him wanting to smile at her, but his muscles just wouldn't allow it. He stepped to the side nodded his head up the stairs before turning and walking up. She stepped in shut the door behind her. "I see you're doing well." She muttered sarcastically. He didn't answer right away. Together they reached the kitchen; he silently poured her a mug of hot tea and handed it to her.

"I'm managing," he muttered, nursing his own cup.

Her eyes flicked around the room and took in balled up tissues and stacked take-away containers, drawn curtains, only a single lamp lit.

"Clearly." She said. He glared. She gulped her tea. "I'm sorry," she told him. "I cope with sarcasm." She glanced around the apartment. "Where's Mrs. Hudson?"

"Her sister's." he said, sipping his tea once more.

"When was the last time you left the house?" she asked him. He shrugged.

"John, it's been almost two months, you can't just stop your life." She said, setting down her cup and reaching out to touch his arm. He didn't flinch away from her, which she counted as a small victory, he simply glanced down at her hand resting at his elbow before looking up to her eyes.

"It's what he would have expected." And he cracked the tiniest smile. She laughed, not a chuckle or a giggle, more of a quick exhale through a smiling mouth. She bit her lip and shrugged a little.

"You're probably right." She said with a sigh as she sat down at the kitchen table, her mind flashed with the familiar image of Sherlock sitting in this same spot, microscope in front of him, muttering under his breath. She felt her throat grow tight and shook her head to clear it. She hadn't noticed that John had taken the seat across from her until he placed his hand over hers, a sympathetic gesture at the sight of her glassy eyes.

"Aubrie," he said gently, "how are _you?"_ Her jaw quivered and she bit her lip hard to still it, scrunching up her button nose. Her eyes stung, her throat hot and dry and she pulled her hand from his to cover her face in her fingers. He gave her a moment to compose and eventually, she took an unsteady breath and met his gaze.

"I'm pregnant." And then, with exceptional gracelessness, John Watson fainted before her.

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Busy summer, but finally found time to update! What do you guys think?

Let me know in the Reviews section!

- Clary x


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